


And Now it's Christmas Every Day

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bakery Owner Bitty, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: Jack doesn't quite know how he ended up here, but it probably started when he agreed to play Santa ...





	And Now it's Christmas Every Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckie_dee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/gifts).



> This is my 'Swawesome Santa gift fic for [luckie_dee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee) who mentioned enjoying AUs, meet cutes and first kisses. I am so sorry this is so late. I had initially started a different fic based on another of your suggestions, and it quickly spiraled out of control. I do intend to finish it at some point, but at this point it will probably be more like a 'Swawesome Martin Luther King Jr. Day gift fic. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this little bit of Zimbits Christmas fluff.

“Zimmboni. Zimmboni, you in there?”

Tater’s voice was followed by an insistent banging, one Jack tried desperately to ignore until the man in his arms broke away. “You sure you don’t need to go see what your friends want, hon?” he asked.

Jack leaned closer to the man until their foreheads were touching. “It’s nothing important.”

“Well, if it’s nothing important …” the man wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and tugged him closer. “Kiss me again, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Everything else — the knocking, Tater’s voice, the fact that they were in a supply closet surrounded by mops and bottles of industrial strength cleaner — fell away. The only thing in Jack’s world was Bitty.

“Jack!” The door opened, letting in light and —  there were Tater and Thirdy peering inside.

“We found him!” Tater called out. “And little elf Bitty, too.”

“ _Kid,_ ” Thirdy said, looking from Jack to Bitty and back again and shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t even want to know.”

Jack could understand. If pressed he wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain, even to himself, how he’d ended up dressed as Santa Claus, making out with an elf in a hospital supply closet.

*

Nobody would ever mistake Jack Zimmermann for Santa Claus.

He didn’t have a white beard. His washboard abs were far from Santa-like. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, _jolly._

He did, however, happen to be in the right place at the right time.

“Will you consider being our Santa, Mr. Zimmermann?” Ellen, the hospital’s office manager, had asked as he left his physical therapy appointment a week earlier. He was, possibly, too focused on the missed call from his general manager that had come in during his session to really hear the query.

“Euh, what?” he asked, looking up from his phone.

Ellen smiled. “I was just asking if you’d be interested in playing Santa next weekend when your team is here to help with the party on the children’s ward. I wouldn’t normally, but Dr. Wilson, who was our Santa for so many years, moved to Florida last year when he retired. We still have the suit, but nobody here on staff is the right size. You’d need some padding, but you’re just about Dr. Wilson’s height.”

“Ah, I can’t move around too well,” Jack said, gesturing to his cane and knee brace.

“That’s actually perfect,” Ellen assured him. “Santa gets to sit down the whole time. It’s the best job you can have if you need to stay off your feet.”

Jack must have looked uncertain because she sweetened the deal. “Don’t worry. The hospital will provide an assistant to help you with the kids.”

That was how it started, anyway.

*

Tater thought it was hilarious. “You’re not jolly like Santa,” he pointed out.

“Apparently I’m the right size for the suit.”

Tater didn’t look convinced. “Zimmboni is going to be Santa,” he announced to the rest of the team. Reactions varied from laughter to outright skepticism.

“Isn’t Santa known for, like, eating a lot of cookies?” Marty asked.

“And being jolly?” Snowy added. Clearly, nobody was convinced of Jack's ability to pull this off.

“Ha ha,” Jack said. “I can be jolly.”

“Not ‘ha ha,’” Tater said. “It’s ‘ho ho ho.’”

“Ho ho ho,” Jack tried.

“Right,” Thirdy said. “Just try not to look like you’re in pain when you say it.

*

The hospital’s PR department wanted Jack to pose for pictures to promote the event.

“In the suit?” he asked when he arrived. A PR intern who introduced himself as Andy had handed him a dry cleaning bag, inside of which he could only assume was the Santa suit.

“In the suit,” Andy confirmed. “Just change right in there,” he said, pointing at a supply closet down the hall. “We’re still waiting on our elf.”

Jack looked around the room they’d set up for the photo shoot. The hospital had gone all out, bringing in an elegantly decorated tree and what could only be described as a Santa _throne._

“It’s fake,” someone with a Southern accent said as Jack gazed at the tree. “Some of the patients are allergic to the real thing. They sure did a good job though, didn’t they?”

Jack turned toward the source of the voice, and was surprised to see … an elf.

No, not an elf. A grown man who had to be near Jack’s age, although he was several inches shorter. But he was _dressed_ as an elf.

“I’m Bitty,” the elf introduced himself.

“Jack,” Jack replied.

“Oh, I know who you are,” Bitty (that couldn’t be his real name, could it?) said with a knowing wink. “You’re a bit younger than Dr. Wilson, but I think you’ll do just fine. The kiddos will just be happy to see Santa.”

“Have you done this before?” He sounded like he’d done this before.

“I’ve been volunteering for Christmas parties at this hospital since college,” Bitty said.  “I had an internship here and they roped me into it on account of the suit fitting and all.” Bitty gestured to his ensemble, a short, fitted blazer and matching green shorts.

Jack had a hard time believing Bitty’s costume had been made for anybody else. The jacket fit perfectly across his shoulders and chest and tapered down to highlight his slim waist. The shorts — worn over a pair of yellow tights — hugged his small-but-perky ass. His satin-covered green shoes even had curled toes. A bell was affixed to the end of each. They jingled when he moved.

“You should get changed,” Bitty said, placing a hand on Jack’s arm and gently turning him in the direction of the supply closet. “Did they show you where?”

Jack realized he was still staring at the Bitty’s ass and quickly redirected his attention to the bag in his arms. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered, feeling his face heat up. “I’ll just go change.”

 

Jack was used to posing for publicity photos. There were always shoots throughout the year, especially when the new season started up. Still, posing never quite came naturally to him the way it did for his camera happy parents.

“Stand a little closer together,” the photographer told Jack and Bitty. They shuffled closer until their shoulders touched. “Great. Eric (the elf’s real name was Eric, Jack had discovered, though Bitty insisted almost everybody called him by the nickname), angle your body toward me just a little. Jack, can you smile? Look jolly!”

Jack smiled in what he thought was a jolly manner.

Bitty nudged him. “You call that jolly? You look like you’re at Rudolph’s funeral.”

“That’s it!” The photographer yelled as Jack’s genuine smile revealed itself. “It’s perfect.”

After a series of photos of the two of them, Andy led two kids into the room. Elise, like Jack, was a physical therapy patient. Mateo was the recent recipient of a cochlear implant. As the photographer adjusted the settings on his camera and another assistant helped Jack get settled on the chair, Bitty engaged the kids in conversation.

“What happened to your leg, Santa?” Elise asked, gently patting Jack’s knee.

“Oh, I —”

“Santa had a little accident while he was putting up Christmas lights, didn’t you, Santa?” Bitty broke in, tone light. He met Jack’s eye and held his gaze.

“Oh, ho ho,” Jack said, attempting to get into character. “That’s right. That ladder was a little slippery.”

Jack thought his voice sounded stilted and uncertain, but Bitty must have approved because he smiled and gave a short nod of his head. “Good thing Santa has good doctors here to fix him up. Just like your doctors. Did you tell Santa what you want for Christmas, honey?”

“I’d really like an American Girl doll with brown hair and blue eyes like me,” Elise said.

“What about you, Mateo?” Bitty asked.

“Can you bring me a basketball hoop?” the little boy asked Jack hopefully.

“Of course Santa can do that, can’t you Santa?” Bitty asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack.

“Euh …” Had Bitty just promised these kids Santa would bring them the gifts they’d requested? “I’ll try my best,” Jack finally said.

There were cookies afterward, for everyone involved with the shoot. Jack took the opportunity to pull Bitty aside. He wasn’t sure it was his place to say anything, but he also knew there might be two disappointed kids on Christmas morning if he didn’t.

“Is everything okay?” Bitty asked, concerned. “You aren’t getting too tired, are you? I know the shoot ran a little long. They’ll probably let you leave if you need to.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jack said, feeling awkward and unsure how to broach the topic. “It’s just … I’ve heard you promise those kids that Santa will bring them the gifts they asked for.”

“Well, that _is_ how Santa works,” Bitty said with a teasing grin. “Or do y’all have a different Santa up there in Canada?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jack said, a little surprised Bitty didn’t understand. “You didn’t say Santa would try his best, you _promised_ Santa would bring their gifts. A basketball hoop and a Miss U.S.A. Doll.”

“American Girl,” Bitty corrected.

“Right, that,” Jack said, wondering if Bitty really was missing the point. “You shouldn’t promise these kids things when you can’t deliver. You don’t know what their family situation is, or if they even celebrate.”

“Who says I can’t deliver?” Bitty asked. 

“I’m not saying you can’t deliver,” Jack said. “I’m saying _Santa_ might not be able to deliver. Because Santa isn’t real. What do you think will happen when they wake up disappointed on Christmas morning? ”

“They won’t,” Bitty said, “because Santa has his ways.” His tone was cordial, but not warm like it had been earlier. Jack decided to stop arguing. Maybe he would just say something to somebody on the PR team before he left.

But when he tried bringing it up, instead of agreeing with him, everyone started _gushing_ about Bitty.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Hannah, the social media manager, asked. “Bitty and I interned here together. He didn’t end up working here, but this will be his fifth year buying presents for all the kids who come to the party.”

“He works here,” Andy the intern said. “Technically.”

“He works in the café downstairs,” Hannah clarified.

“You should try the pie,” Andy said.

“Wait,” Jack said, a little confused. “ _Bitty_ buys presents for all the kids in the hospital?”

“It’s kind of funny when you think about it. He really should be the one playing Santa,” Hannah mused. “He’s the sweetest guy.”

“Good cookies too,” Andy said.

*

Over the next few days, Jack continued to think about Bitty and what Hannah and Andy had said about him. Jack wasn’t sure how much money he made working in a hospital café, but dozens of toys had to be at least a little expensive, right? The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. His assumptions had been wrong, and he’d almost certainly hurt Bitty’s feelings.

What made him feel even worse was that, before he’d torn into him and ruined everything, he’d actually been enjoying getting to know Bitty.

Feeling like he had some apologies to make, Jack stopped by the hospital café after Thursday’s physical therapy appointment.

“It’s you,” Bitty said, smiling but sounding a little wary when Jack walked in. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the —” he stroked an invisible beard.

“Oh, ha ha. Yeah. You’re missing your —” Jack tapped his ears.

“Well, I know you didn’t think those were real,” Bitty playfully scolded. “Though I’ve been told I’m basically elf-sized, so I guess I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“You’re not that small,” Jack said, as his brain told him Bitty was actually just the right size. The right size for what? Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to think about that. He quickly changed course. “Hannah in PR told me you work here. I came to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” Bitty asked.

“I shouldn’t have been so quick to jump down your throat the other day. You were actually really great with those kids. Better than I was,” Jack said, remembering how awkward he’d felt trying to make conversation with them.

“Aw, you did great,” Bitty reassured him. “I’ve just had a lot of practice.”

“Before the party you said you’ve been doing this since college?”

Bitty smiled at Jack from across the counter. “I was a PR intern here my senior year, back when I thought that’s what I wanted to do with my life.”

“And now you work here in the café?”

“I own the place,” Bitty said proudly, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little. “I opened my first location in downtown Providence three years ago, and I took over the lease here when the old tenant moved out last year.”

“Oh.” Jack had passed the little café several times over the past month, but he’d never considered there might be a real person behind it. He’d always assumed it was wholly owned by the hospital.

“You’re probably wondering why I choose to work in a hospital,” Bitty said.

“It doesn’t seem like the most visible location,” Jack pointed out.

“Not very visible, no,” Bitty agreed. “I do get some traffic from off the street; the separate entrance helps with that. But I’m not here for the visibility. I’m here to be the bright spot in someone’s day. To serve that cup of coffee to the woman who’s been by her baby’s bedside all night, or a cookie to a little one who broke her arm. Let’s face it, nobody looks forward to a dry vending machine muffin.”

“I don’t,” Jack said, remembering the days after his overdose. He’d caught his parents, on more than one occasion, sharing bags of Doritos and overly sweetened coffee from the vending machines on his floor.

“Well,” Bitty said simply, “that’s why I do it.”

“And you buy gifts for all the kids at Christmas,” Jack said.

A spot of pink appeared on each of Bitty’s cheeks. “You aren’t supposed to know about that,” he said quietly.

“It seemed to be an open secret.”

“Well. I don’t do it for the attention.” Bitty turned away from Jack and pulled a stoneware mug off a hook on the wall behind him. “How do you take your coffee, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Somehow, Jack ended up seated at the counter with a cup of coffee and a slice of what Bitty called “candy cane pie,” listening as Bitty told him about working around sick and injured kids when he was an intern and feeling moved to do something. “My college hockey team decided to adopt the hospital for Christmas, so to speak, and we raised the money to get each child a gift. I’ve just continued the tradition.”

“On your own? That must be …” Jack knew he should tread carefully here. He had no idea what Bitty’s financial situation looked like, but his business was clearly successful. Still, he probably wasn’t buying all these gifts on an NHL player’s budget.

“I get by,” Bitty said, picking up on Jack’s implication. “It’s just me at home. Well, me and my cat, and neither of us needs very much. I put a little into the holiday fund each month, and my old teammates still chip in.”

“I want to help,” Jack said, suddenly knowing it wasn’t just the right thing to do, but something he wanted to do.

Bitty looked at him, a little hesitant. “I’m not looking for a handout, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“I — I know,” Jack faltered, suddenly nervous. He’d said the wrong thing again. “I didn’t understand at first, when you made those promises to those kids.  But now I do, and I want to help you.”

“Well …” Bitty looked up at Jack with those big brown eyes. “If you’re serious, what do you think about meeting me after I get off work tomorrow night? I’m going shopping.”

There were few things more horrifying to Jack than the thought of shopping in a crowded store two days before Christmas. It wasn’t just the crowds, it was the way people recognized him. With his knee brace and cane, he’d hardly be inconspicuous. But this wasn’t about him. Jack took a sip of his coffee. “Would it be too much trouble for you to pick me up?” he asked. “Driving is still a little rough. I’ve been using a car service to get to my PT appointments.”

“Of course,” Bitty said, and if he thought it was strange that someone who had been a stranger just a few days ago was asking for a ride, he didn’t say anything.

*

“Where are we headed?” Jack asked as he situated himself in the passenger seat of Bitty’s blue Prius. Bitty had picked him up after his shift ended at six. His assistant manager, he’d told Jack, would take over until the café closed at nine.

“Target,” Bitty said as he started the car. “I can get all but two of the gifts there. I had to order Elise’s American Girl doll online, and I was hoping …”

“Hoping?” Jack prompted.

“One little boy, Cal, asked for an Alexei Mashkov jersey. I thought maybe you could hook me up, if it’s not too much trouble. Or at least tell me where to get one. All the local stores are sold out in his size.”

“I can do you one better, and get it autographed,” Jack said, thinking about how pleased Tater would be when he told him a young fan had asked specifically for his jersey.

“Could you?” Bitty asked.

“I’ll text someone in the office now and see if they can have one available to pick up tomorrow,” Jack said, pulling out his phone.

“Tell Mr. Mashkov I’ll make him as pie as a thank you,” Bitty said.

“He’ll love that,” Jack said.

They fell into an awkward silence as Bitty navigated streets busy with holiday traffic and bright with lighted displays.

“So, uh, you played hockey?” Jack asked, remembering yesterday’s conversation.

“Sure did. Just NCAA at Samwell. Nothing like you, Mr. Stanley Cup.”

“Division I NCAA is a big deal,” Jack said. “Did any teams try to recruit you?”

Bitty huffed out a laugh. “Oh, that was never gonna be in the cards for me,” he said breezily. “I barely made the Samwell team. I’m too small, for one.”

“Lots of great players are on the smaller side,” Jack said, thinking of Kent Parson. “I bet you were speedy.”

“Speedy maybe,” Bitty conceded, “but I never quite got comfortable with the physical aspect of the game. It’s okay though. I got college paid for and made the best friends of my life, and we even made it to the Frozen Four a couple times. I can’t complain.”

Bitty may have been downplaying his accomplishments, but Jack was impressed. He made a mental note to look for footage from Samwell’s recent Frozen Four appearances when he got home.

“We’re here,” Bitty said, pulling into a busy shopping center and driving past a series of typical suburban chain stores: Williams-Sonoma, Best Buy, Dick’s Sporting Goods. Further along, the red Target bullseye beckoned.

“I’ll try to get a spot close by so you don’t have to walk too far,” Bitty said.

“You don’t have to,” Jack assured him. “If you can, that’s great, but part of my therapy is to get moving. I don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

Bitty looked a little unsure, but managed to find a spot that wasn’t too far from the entrance. Once inside, he grabbed a cart and took out a small notebook.

“What do you have there?” Jack asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I have the doctors and nurses take as many gift requests as possible from our regular patients,” Bitty explained, “and they email them to me. I get extra gifts, too, because you never know how many kids’ll show up on the day of the party.” He studied the list. “Let’s start with the sports equipment,” he finally decided, “and then we’ll head over to the toys.”

Bitty hummed to himself as he shopped. That was what Jack noticed as they made their way up and down the aisles — slowly because of Jack’s leg, and because Bitty carefully considered every gift before placing it in the cart. He was doing it now, a basketball in each hand. He looked from one to the other and back again, as though judging them by some criteria Jack wasn’t privy to. It was cute, he decided.

“I know you’re NHL and all,” Bitty said, turning to Jack, “but do you know which of these is better?”

“That one,” Jack said, tapping the ball in Bitty’s left hand.

“You have no idea, do you?” Bitty’s laugh was cute, too.

“Not really,” Jack admitted. “I’ve always been a one-sport athlete.”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope for the best,” Bitty said, dropping the ball Jack chose in the cart and placing the other back on the shelf. “Now, tell me if you see a scooter with light-up wheels.” He pushed the cart down the aisle, Jack awkwardly following.

A half hour later, their cart’s contents had grown to include a vet play set, two Lego Star Wars sets, three Baby Alive Dolls, and the newest edition of _The Guinness Book of World Records._

“I used to love that book when I was a kid,” Jack said, thumbing through the its pages. He had an aunt and uncle who had given him a copy each year until he was at least thirteen, and the sudden memory of reading it next to the tree with a plate of cookies and mug of hot cocoa made him yearn for Christmases past.

“Should we get you your own copy?” Bitty chirped.

“Ah, maybe I’ll just look for my old copies when I go home,” Jack said.

Bitty had checked all of the gifts off of his list, but he wasn’t finished. He led Jack to the art supplies, where he selected several art kits and pads of drawing and construction paper. “For the hospital,” he explained. “They go through a lot of these.”

In the grocery section, he added instant oatmeal, boxes of crackers, individual servings of ready-to-eat soup, and boxes of fruit snacks to the cart.

“You’re giving the kids oatmeal?” Jack asked in confusion.

“These are for the families who have to spend a lot of time at the hospital. A lot of them stay all day long and don’t leave to eat. I’ll pick up some gift cards too, for nearby restaurants, so they can get a hot meal.”

In the pet section, he chose a box of dog biscuits. “For the therapy dogs who come visit,” he said with a grin. “There’s this one goldendoodle named Tillie; my lord she’s a sweetheart. Someday when I’m in a house of my own …”

Somehow, Jack had no trouble imagining this kind, golden-haired man with a playful, golden-haired dog. He felt that familiar yearning again, but not for past holidays. This time it was, inexplicably, in anticipation of Christmases future.

By the time Bitty had checked everything off of his list, including tape and wrapping paper, the cart was full and Jack’s leg ached.

“You feeling okay?” Bitty asked, peering up at him. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Jack gritted out, even though he knew he was about to reach his limit.

“You can take a seat in the café over there while I pay,” Bitty suggested.

Jack looked at the line ahead of them. It would be at least 10 minutes before they checked out. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

Bitty rested a hand on Jack’s arm. The touch was comforting. “I know a place we can go after this, if you want to rest and get a bite to eat.”

When the cashier read the total out loud, Jack stopped Bitty from taking out his wallet. “I’ve got this,” he said.

“Mr. Zimmermann, I can’t let you —”

“I’m good for it,” Jack said. “I meant it when I told you I want to help.”

“I’m good for it too,” Bitty argued; his voice had that stubborn edge Jack remembered from the photo shoot.

The cashier looked from Jack to Bitty and back again. “Are you —?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack said, swatting Bitty’s hand away from the credit card terminal and jamming his own in while Bitty was distracted by the cashier’s reaction.

Bitty’s laugh was bright. “You win this one, Mr. Zimmermann,” he said. “But I’m treating you to dinner.”

*

It was almost nine by the time Bitty pulled into the little farm-to-table diner near Jack’s apartment. “This is one of my favorites,” he said. “You ever come here?”

“It’s one of my favorites, too. Have you ever had the apple pie? It’s so good. But they only have it on Tuesdays.”

“That’s _my_ pie!” Bitty said, clearly delighted. “I do a little side baking for some of the restaurants around here.”

“Sometimes,” Jack confessed, “I buy a whole pie and freeze it to eat throughout the week.”

Bitty laughed. “Now that you know, Mr. Zimmermann, all you have to do is ask. I’ll make one fresh just for you.”

“That’s dangerous information. My nutritionist wouldn’t want me to have such easy access.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bitty whispered conspiratorially.

When Jack held the door open for Bitty, Bitty placed a hand on the small of Jack’s back to steady him. “Got it?” he asked.

“Got it,” Jack said.

They entered together, Bitty’s hand still on Jack’s back like it belonged there. The lone waitress spotted them from the other side of the room and smiled warmly. She must have mistook them for a couple, because she seated them at a cozy booth tucked away in a corner.

“We can ask for something bigger,” Bitty said when the waitress left them with their menus. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” Jack said.

The conversation flowed as easily as it had in the car and in Target. Jack told Bitty the story behind his injury and subsequent surgery. Bitty told Jack about his upcoming trip home to Georgia for the holidays. “Just for a long weekend,” he said, “because I don’t like to be away from work for too long.”

They ordered food — a burger for Bitty, chicken tenders for Jack. Jack expected a chirp — his teammates always chirped him when he ordered chicken tenders — but Bitty just smiled fondly. “You should get the sweet potato fries and I’ll get the truffle fries. That way we can share,” he suggested.

Jack didn’t really like sweet potato fries. But he liked the idea of sharing with Bitty. He ordered the sweet potato fries.

“When were you in the hospital?” Jack asked quietly as they waited for their food.

Bitty opened his mouth, as if to protest, and closed it again.

“I was eighteen,” Jack said, when Bitty didn’t reply. “I don’t know how much you followed hockey at the time, but I overdosed on my prescription anxiety medication right before the draft.”

“I may have heard something about that,” Bitty said, but he didn’t look away like people sometimes did. Instead, he found Jack's hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I was inpatient for a little while,” Jack continued, “and then in therapy for a long time.”

"And the draft?”

“Missed it. The Falcs still wanted me and made it clear there would be an offer the following season, on the condition that I get and stay healthy.”

Bitty nodded. “Their good luck.”

“Mine too,” Jack said. He had never stopped being thankful his team had been willing to take a chance on him after he’d almost thrown it all away.

“I was seven,” Bitty finally said. “I got pneumonia real bad and had to stay in the hospital over Christmas.”

“That must have been scary.” Hell, Jack had been scared when he’d been in the hospital, and he was almost an adult at the time.

“I’m an only child. My parents were so worried. They never left my side. I missed out on my class holiday program and all of our family parties. But Santa came to visit on Christmas Eve, and we all got coloring books and crayons.” Bitty smiled at the memory.  “I guess that’s why I do what I do. I remember what it’s like to be sick and scared, and to miss out when everyone is out there living their lives.”

“It changes you,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Bitty agreed.

They stayed way too long, leaving only when they saw their waitress flip the sign in the window from “Open” to “Closed.” When Bitty pulled into the lot at Jack’s apartment to drop him off, Jack almost asked when Bitty was free again before he remembered they hadn’t actually been on a date.

Huh. That was a thought he’d have to come back to later.

Instead, he just thanked Bitty for dinner and for allowing him to join him on the shopping trip, and told him he’d see him at the party on Saturday.

*

And then Jack found himself getting dressed in the supply closet.

“Zimmermann, you have 10 minutes,” Marty said from the other side of the door.

“I’m almost ready,” Jack called back. He took the coat off its hanger and put it on.

“Jack? Need help in there?” At the sound of Bitty’s voice, Jack felt a strange, head-to-toe thrill run through his body.

“I think I’m good,” Jack said as he did up the last of the buttons on his coat.

“You sure?” Bitty opened the door a crack and poked his head in. “Your beard looks crooked.”

“It’s kind of itchy,” Jack said, tugging at it.

Bitty stepped all the way inside and closed the door behind him. “Stop touching it.” He took a step closer and began adjusting the beard. “Make sure you stop by the café before you leave,” he said as he worked. “I may have a pie with your name on it.”

“Apple?” Jack asked hopefully.

“A whole apple pie, just for you,” Bitty said, making one final adjustment and giving Jack’s cheek a little pat.

“My nutritionist is going to hate you,” Jack groaned.

“You don’t have to tell him.” Bitty winked.

“I won’t tell him,” Jack whispered. “Because I really, really like you.”

Bitty’s eyes got huge and his mouth made a round little ‘O’ but no sound came out.

“I’m sorry,” Jack quickly apologized. He put a hand on Bitty’s shoulder to steady himself because suddenly his legs — even the good one — felt like Jello.

“It’s okay,” Bitty whispered, taking a step toward Jack. “I really like you, too.”

Looking back on the moment, Jack could never say if he leaned down or Bitty pulled him closer, or if they had the same thought at the same time and met in the middle. He didn’t even know how long they’d been kissing — it simultaneously felt like forever and not long enough — when Tater and Thirdy found them.

“This is upsetting,” Thirdy said as they pulled apart.

Bitty looked horror stricken. Jack, understanding exactly why Bitty was upset, glared at his friends who, to their credit, got it.

“Not because he’s kissing a dude,” Thirdy rushed to explain. “Jack came out to us his rookie year. It’s cool. It's about time he got some action.”

“Is because he’s Santa and you’re an elf,” Tater said, shaking his head. “It’s just wrong.”

*

Everybody said Jack was the jolliest Santa Claus they’d ever seen. It may have been because he couldn't stop smiling. It may have been because he felt himself blushing every time he looked at Bitty.

*

Much later, after pictures and presents and cookies and cocoa, Jack — back in his regular clothes — met Bitty in his café, which had already closed for the day.

“Hey, you,” Bitty said softly, meeting him at the door and locking it behind him. He'd traded his elf suit for dark jeans and a soft looking Fair Isle sweater. “Ready for that pie?”

Jack returned Bitty’s easy smile. “I thought we could pick up where we left off.”

“Jack Zimmermann, I am not putting that costume on again,” Bitty said in mock indignation. “Have you ever had to get in and out of tights?”

Jack laughed. “It can’t be as hard as putting on a padded suit with a bum knee.”

“It is definitely worse,” Bitty grumbled.

“I was actually thinking that when we pick up where we left off, it can be as Jack and Bitty.” He took a step closer.

“Jack and Bitty,” Bitty said thoughtfully. “I like the way we sound together.”

“I do too,” Jack said, finally closing the last bit of distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’m also on Tumblr at [doggernaut](https://doggernaut.tumblr.com). Feel free to drop by and say hi!


End file.
